The Regency Hotel—Six Months Later
“We’re glad to have you back, Don Kovalyov,” Maggadino says. He clasps my hand just before he walks out of the hotel suite.
I watch the elevator doors close on him.
When he’s gone, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Well, that’s done. Order has been restored. Alliances have been re-established.
I’d purposefully postponed a don’s council meeting until I had the Bratva fully back in hand. It took me almost six months to get everything in order, but I wasn’t about to rush it.
Budimir had done a lot of damage in the short time he’d been in charge. It cost me endless time, effort, and money to undo his stunted, brutal legacy.
Choosing underbosses and reorganizing the Bratva hierarchy.
Distributing businesses and assigning territories.
The never-ending work of the don. All the things I once despised doing. The things I told my father I didn’t give a flying fuck about.
That’s what makes up my days now.
I couldn’t be more grateful.
I’ve had help, of course.
The O’Sullivan clan’s assistance in the takeover had not only shifted the balance of power back to me, but it had also taken out two underworld mob bosses whose men had been scattered to the wind after their deaths.
I don’t have to worry about Kovar or Bufalino anymore. Neither does anyone else in the city.
Thank fucking God.
True to my word, I haven’t brought down the hammer on the remaining rats quite as brutally as I would’ve expected.
They have Esme to thank for that.
Most chose exile. Some reneged on their betrayal and were reassigned to low ranks. They’ll never hold true power in my Bratva again. But they have their lives and a change to remake their legacies.
We all deserve that kind of mercy.
I know that better than anyone.
The only other project that occupies some of my time—but mostly Esme’s—is the renovation of my father’s mansion.
Once all the damages sustained in the fight had been dealt with, Esme threw herself into re-decorating it. Most of the rooms were transformed within weeks, so much so that sometimes I walk into rooms and fail to recognize a single thing in there.
“Do you hate it?” Esme had asked me when I’d looked around at my father’s old office that she had converted into a family sitting room.
“No, I don’t hate it at all,” I’d told her. “It’s just so different.”
“I wanted the space to be warmer,” she explained. “It was so… austere.”
I’d laughed at that. If only she knew how right she was. “My father was austere, so that would explain it.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind all the changes I’m making here?”
“I’m sure. This is your home now. I just want you to be comfortable here.”
We’d ended up having sex on the wide sofa that occupied the space where my father’s desk once sat.